Ashes
by Half Demon Alchemist
Summary: Alfred F. Jones felt like he had lost everything in the fire. Of course, that was probably just him being melodramatic, but it was truly how he felt. Suddenly, the person he held closest to him was gone, off enjoying their own life, while he was left behind with the ashes of what used to be.


**Here is my newest story, I've had it written for a while but just haven't posted it because I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out. Inspired by Things We Lost In The Fire by Bastille. (I might've accidentally made Arthur act like a douche and for that I am sorry) Review please!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers**

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><p><strong><em><span>Ashes<span>_**

Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland had lost everything in the fire. Okay, well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but in Alfred's point of view, it might as well have been everything. _Arthur was his everything._

And now he had lost him.

There were so many things that he'd never be able to see again because of this. Arthur's smile —the one that made the stars jealous— and the way his face would light up when he was talking about something he loved, the twinkle in his emerald eyes. The burnt food and pillow fights, the adorable face he made when he was sleeping and let his guard down. Those rare smiles he would flash, the blush that would creep onto his cheeks. The books strewn about and the cups of tea all around the house. So many things he'd never be able to see again.

All the feelings Alfred had amassed were shattered into ash.

There were so many things he had lost in the fire, Alfred knew he couldn't even count them all. He had lost things like Saturday nights out and lazy Sunday mornings in bed, he had lost holding hands on their way to Arthur's favorite bookstore or the movies. He had lost the sweet murmurs and whispers of affection in his ear and the mumbles of praise panted against his skin in harsh breaths.

The blue-eyed man wondered if he could've lost any more. He had already lost his heart, and possibly his mind. What was he supposed to do with these overflowing feelings of love? Drown in them? Let them suffocate him and roam his heart, until there was nothing he could do but try to repress them with bottles of alcohol?

"I'm just worried about you..." His brother, Mattie, had said over the phone one night. "Are you sure you're doing okay? I can always come visit you..." Matthew trailed off, as he usually did in phone conversations.

"Nah bro, don't worry about it!" He had forced a laugh to pass through his lips and into the receiver, "I'm doing great! I don't even miss him, not one bit! Besides, heroes are never sad!"

But he had spoken too happily, too excitedly. Too much false cheerfulness had been laced in his tone, and he knew his brother could tell, but didn't say anything. "Alfred, I just want to make sure you're okay. You and him spent a lot of years together, and I know you loved him a lot." There was a pause before Matthew had spoke again, "it's okay to miss him, Al."

Alfred hadn't been able to reply to that, so instead he gave a laugh and another excuse about how he didn't miss him _not one bit_ and hung up the phone with a lie of dinner plans.

The chaste kisses that turned into something more had been lost, as had the traditional Friday movie nights. The scent of microwaveable popcorn and burnt breakfast scones could no longer smelt and it seemed unnatural to not have Arthur smiling at him, clad in an apron with a cookbook in his hand standing by to the stove and some horrid English recipe gone wrong.

One day, a few weeks ago, he and Arthur had sat across each other at the dinner table, ignoring the half-packed boxes scattered around the room. Arthur had said it would be healthy for them to do this so they could _'maintain their friendship.'_ Together they sat, Alfred desperately trying to not make eye contact as Arthur put on a façade that nothing about this situation bothered him, although the tense and awkward atmosphere said otherwise. Arthur had gripped the pen far too tightly as he scrawled some of his reasons on the sheet of paper.

That night, weeks ago, they had sat and made a list of all the things that they had. The list read things like _'mutual support' _and _'trust' _but neither of them dared say _'love' _and so instead they listed everything but the main factor of their love for one another. At the time, Alfred had forced a smile across his lips and listed things their relationship had had, hoping maybe, just maybe, one of these would wake Arthur out of this stupor and the Brit would stay with him. But instead, Arthur put down the pen and continued to pack his boxes.

Alfred wondered if maybe the shorter male had accidentally packed Alfred's heart away with him when he left their cozy apartment.

Like the back of table tops, the signs were right under his nose. Ticket stubs of places Arthur had went and wanted to go that didn't interest him, didn't include him. Diaries that belonged to Arthur had been read by curious blue eyes one day before Arthur had left, when the loneliness came and he was away.

Now, those diaries hadn't been very helpful in the quest of finding answers for all the unanswered questions, not that he entirely expected them to. After all those years of watching Arthur write in them every night, Alfred had thought the entires would be more grand. Instead, there were the daily descriptions of his life and sometimes his thoughts and feelings, none of which were particularly powerful.

Alfred was aware of everything that happened in the diary, all the dates listed and sweet things mentioned had indeed been between him and Arthur, not between the Brit and some other man. There were no hidden secrets, no shocking discoveries. The American knew that and yet he kept reading, although they told nothing new, he loved to read the words Arthur used. The long, complicated and fancy words that Alfred had never bothered to use or learn seemed so much more interesting and poetic in the scrawled cursive handwriting than they ever did before.

The bespectacled blond had lost so much in this fire, in this destruction of their relationship. He had lost strolls in the park while they shared a scarf and the new homemade mittens Arthur knitted for him every year. The framed photos of them over the years had been removed from the walls, as if they had never existed in the first place. Lost were the stories that Arthur would read to him when he couldn't sleep and the surprise visits at work. Packed away were the small gifts and souvenirs from romantic trips, hidden away in a small box and tucked away in the attic or basement. Everything that could possibly remind him of Arthur had been squirreled away, as to not cause him anymore heartbreak.

There was a knock at his door. Pizza? Lately, he had been feeling far too miserable for going out to eat and cooking would just remind him of the fun nights he spent with Arthur in the kitchen, trying to save some of the failed courses his boyfriend had made. _Ex-boyfriend._

With a sigh, he walked across the hardwood floors in his cheap slippers, the red fabric of his large sweatpants swishing together when he walked. Running a hand through his unwashed blond hair, he forced a smile before opening the door. No need to greet the pizza delivery man with a frown, after all.

However, when he opened the door, it was most certainly not the pizza man standing on his doorstep.

"Hello Alfred..." Said a voice with in a sheepish British accent, "mind if I come in for a moment?"

Alfred was at a loss for words. Here, standing before him, was the very man that had made him feel like he had lost his home in a fire. He looked the same as he had a few weeks ago, although his hair was a tad shorter –neater–, dark circles ringed his eyes and was that a new coat?

"I-uh... sure." Alfred settled for mumbling, the words not wanting to leave his mouth. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, refusing to move and produce words so he didn't seem like a bumbling idiot.

Arthur nodded in response, waking through the threshold and into the apartment they had once shared. Seeing how prim and proper Arthur looked –like he always did– Alfred felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Here Arthur looked as if he had just stepped off a private jet from London, and he looked like an unemployed lazy man who had just rolled out of bed a few moments ago, with his unwashed hair and baggy sweatpants.

"Glad to see you're at least attempting to keep the place somewhat clean, I expected it to become a wreck after I left." Arthur said with a teasing smirk, glancing around once again and frowning when his green eyes spotted the blank walls where their framed lovey-dovey photos used to hang. "How've you been doing, Alfred?"

The bespectacled american cleared his throat, trying not to focus on how the other male seemed so unaffected by seeing him again. Cheap smiles and quick glances. No sign of regret, remorse or desire. "I've been doing great, Arti- Arthur." _No more calling him 'Artie'. _"How 'bout you?"

Arthur smiled again, fast and cheap, like one of those fast-food diners Alfred loved so much. "Actually, things have been rather chipper. I got some new sweaters and a few new books recently."

"Arthur, why... why are you here?" He questioned, cutting straight to the point. It hurt too much to see Arthur standing there like he always used to without even knowing why.

_Please, please say it's because you want me back_. His heart was trembling, trying to escape from his chest. His head throbbed with so many different thoughts, most of them revolving around how much he wanted Arthur to just say those magic words of _'I still love you.' _Alfred still loved Arthur, he knew he did, but he'd probably rather die than actually admit that to anyone but himself. Heroes weren't supposed to have unrequited love like this, they weren't supposed to have someone fall out of love with them. And heroes most certainly weren't supposed to still love someone who no longer loved them.

Yes, it had been Arthur who called their relationship to an end. After years of being together, Arthur said he _"just wasn't feeling that spark anymore" _and _"thought it was time he accomplished more with his life"_ and something like _"it's what's best for the both of us." _Alfred hadn't protested, hadn't pleaded for him to stay, although he had wanted to. But that would've been shameful, wouldn't it? To drop to the floor on his knees and beg for him to stay with him?

"I need to tell you something, Alfred."

_Please let him still be in love with me. Please, please._

"I'm going back home to England."

Wait, what? That wasn't what he wanted to hear at all. Fear and confusion pumped through his veins, filling him to the very brim. This wasn't what he wanted, this wasn't what was supposed to happen. Arthur was supposed to say that he regretted breaking up with him so they could be together again, not say he was leaving the entire damn country.

"You're... going back to England?"

The green-eyed man nodded. "Yes, I think there might be a job opportunity for me there."

"That's an awful long way to go for a job, Artie." Alfred managed to say with a cheap laugh, forgetting his previous rule of _no nicknames._

"Well, you know I never intended to stay here. I always planned on moving back sooner or later, so I think now is a perfectly fine time. My boxes are already packed, and I have a nice flat picked out in London."

"You... you were planning on moving back one day? I never knew that, why didn't you tell me?" Honestly, Alfred had never known. Since when had Arthur planned on leaving the greatest country in the world? This was home, this was where they met, this was where Alfred was. Was Arthur really going to leave this all behind?

The Englishman sighed, and his thick eyebrows scrunched in a mixture of concern and disappointment. "This is why we broke up, Alfred, you never listen. I've told you countless times before that I wanted to move back home to England."

That couldn't be true, could it? The blond didn't want to admit it, but somewhere I him he knew that Arthur was in fact, correct. It hurt to admit that Arthur was probably better off without him. He deserved someone who listened to him, after all.

Maybe he was the match and Arthur was the rock. Maybe they couldn't have a proper relationship. When they were together, the sparks flew, but it didn't take long for that to turn into a fire. They sat together, but far apart, and watched all they had burned on the pyre.

"But why now? Why're you moving back now?" They had only broken up a few mere weeks ago, so why did Arthur have to leave now at all times?

"I told you, the job." Another sigh passed his lips as he continued, "but if I'm perfectly honest with you, it's because I think now happens to be a good time. I'm not tied down in a relationship with you anymore, so there's no reason for me to stay in America any longer."

"_Tied down?_" Alfred stressed, repeating the Brit's own words, hurt and confusion lacing his tone. "How long did you feel that way?"

"Oh, Alfred, you know I didn't mean it that way." Arthur chided, his voice soft and nurturing, like he was talking to a small child as he dusted invisible dirt off of his coat.

_No, I don't know you don't mean it that way. In fact, I don't think I know you at all anymore._ But he didn't say that, he didn't say anything. He kept silent, hoping that somehow Arthur would suddenly realize that this was all just a huge mistake.

After all of this, it was hard to believe that they had ever had a loving, committed relationship. It was hard to believe that two guys like them could've ever been head-over-heels for each other at one point, but it was true. A few mere months ago, Alfred had been searching for engagement rings. And now here they were, standing far apart in a kitchen they used to share together.

"Was that all you came here to tell me?" He finally asked when the silence was too much for him to stand.

Arthur nodded. "Yes, I do suppose that's all. Thanks for inviting me in, Alfred." He made a move for the door, but froze when Alfred suddenly spoke again.

"What about us?"

"What do you mean, 'what about us'? Alfred, there is no _us_ anymore. We were born with nothing, and we sure as hell have nothing now."

Arthur was right, and Alfred knew it. Of course, that didn't mean he necessarily wanted to admit it, but still, Arthur made a good point. There was no reason for Arthur to stay here, they weren't together. Now they were just two people who used to be in love and weren't. Of course, it didn't stop his eyes from burning at the thought of him leaving, or his heart from pounding at the sound of his voice.

"Yes Alfred..." Arthur spoke again, almost to himself instead of to the other man. "We were born with nothing and we sure as hell have nothing now." It seemed as if he was only talking to himself, trying to _convince_ himself of his own words.

It was then that Alfred realized they would never be the same again, even if they did get back together. Even if he dropped to the floor and pleaded, even if Arthur confessed his love all over again, they would never be the same again. The damage had been done, and he had to move on. Fires do not repair, they destroy. He could not salvage anything from the wreck that was their relationship, although a part of him wished he could.

They would never be the same again.

Hell, he didn't even think they could be friends at this point. There had been too much love, too much passion for it to go back to the way things were when they had first met. Alfred would never be able to put his feelings behind him like that, but a part of him wanted to. A part of him wanted to somehow move on so that way they could be friends, so that way they didn't have to lose touch completely.

So that we he didn't really have to say goodbye.

They walked to the door, and the shorter blond stood on the threshold, fidgeting with his sleeve and seeming almost nervous. He opened his mouth, before closing it again, and reopening it. A tinge of red burned his pale cheeks as he began to speak. "Alfred...if you don't mind, maybe I could... come visit you, next time I'm in town?"

The future was in their hands, and they would never be the same again.

Arthur had broken his heart when he left, and yet he found his lips quirking upwards as he answered."Yeah, of course. Come visit soon, Artie." Alfred said, a slight smile on his face, and when Arthur flashed a hint of a smile back and his heart swelled, and he knew he wouldn't quite get over his feelings for the other boy anytime soon.

The future was in their hands and they would never be the same again, but maybe they could make something new from the damage the fire had caused.

"Thanks, Alfred. I'd...I'd like that. A lot." His green eyes looked grateful, shining with emotions Alfred hadn't seen in a long time. "I'll see you soon then."

And then he was gone, and as the sandy blond watched him walk away, he realized that maybe the fire hadn't destroyed quite everything. There may be only fragments and shards left of what there had been, but it was something.

Closing the door, Alfred strode his way back to the kitchen, his stomach grumbling as he wondered just where exactly the pizza guy was. Grabbing a can of soda from the fridge, he popped the can open, taking a large gulp. Strangely, he hoped that everything went well for Arthur in England.

Of course, he would miss the Brit while he was out of the country, however long that turned out to be. But wasn't there some saying about absence making the heart grow fonder?

They would never be the same again, that much was obvious. He had lost a lot in the fire, but he hadn't lost everything. The flames licked at the walls, and tenderly, they turned to dust all that he adored. But that didn't mean that there wasn't _something_ left in the burnt ashes of what had once been.

_**End**_

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><p><span>Vote:<span>_ are you satisfied with it being ended here, or no? _


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